


Kingmaker

by NinjaFairy



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Basically what I think could happen in Book 2, Canon Compliant, Civil War, F/M, Family Drama, Jealousy, Moral Dilemmas, Mutual Pining, Obsession, Politics, Romance, Secret Relationship, Treachery, Unhealthy Relationships, What I like to consider is canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-08 20:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15937409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaFairy/pseuds/NinjaFairy
Summary: When I thought I could just become someone else, I never imagined I could become this - thatwecould become this. This beautiful disaster, so hungry formore.I never imagined I could become a maker of kings.





	1. Intro

**A/N:** I do not give trigger warnings. There will be content in this story that may make you uncomfortable. The two things I will absolutely  **never write**  are graphic rape scenes or pedophilia, but everything else is fair game. You've been warned.

**Note:** I just finished reading The Cruel Prince, and I'm obsessed. I've decided to try my hand at writing something that is  _not_  Harry Potter for once, and I'm excited. This story will basically be a continuation of where the first book ended, with my own speculations of what  _might_  happen in book two. I doubt I will finish this before the second book comes out, but this is just me, playing with the world of Faerie and having fun with it. I should mention that I usually write in limited third-person POV, but I'm trying my hand at first-person POV for this one, since that's how the original is written.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my bullshit.

* * *

  **Intro**

* * *

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he asks, motioning with splayed hands toward the thorny throne in open invitation. "What you sacrificed everything for. Go on. It's all yours."

His open invitation, his malicious grin, is his way of showing me his bitter anger at my betrayal.

_What you sacrificed everything for._

What he really means to say is,  _'What you sacrificed your family for. What you sacrificed my trust for.'_

The unmistakable twinge of guilt twists uncomfortably in my chest at his words, yet I remain silent, because I don't know what to say. He doesn't seem to like this much.

His head tilts to the side, and he shows me more of his pretty teeth. "What's the matter? Is this not what you were expecting? Or is the seating arrangement not up to your standards?"

I can't stop the sharp inhale that goes through my nostrils. He's goading me, and I need to remind myself that he isn't supposed to hold that power over me. I hold that power now – I  _fought_  for that power – even if it is only for one year and one day,  _and not for one minute more._

"I'm not in the mood for your games, Cardan," I reply, doing my best to keep my voice balanced.

Before I finish replying, he closes the distance between us quicker than the beat of my heart, and for a moment, the heat in his intense gaze makes me unsteady. For a moment, I can't even breathe. For a moment, I think that he might kiss me.

But as he lowers his face close to mine, he also lowers his voice and whispers against my lips, "Then… _perhaps_ …you shouldn't have started it, Jude."

Before I have time to formulate a reply, he shoves past me, knocking his shoulder against mine.

How very regal, I think. How very kingly.

I spin around to see his retreating back and end up spluttering after him, "W-where are you going?"

He pauses, but doesn't turn around. Instead, I have the perfect view of his profile, and can see the barely-there lift of his mouth as he speaks. "Accomplishing my first royal duty as High King."

"And that is?" I ask expectantly. We haven't discussed any new assignments or duties yet. Did the Roach give him something to do without notifying me first? I find that I'm irritated, but I'm not sure if it's because of my thoughts, or because of something else entirely.

There was a pause.

"Raising my spirits by drowning myself in them, of course," he replies bitingly.

I didn't realize how badly my hands were shaking and heart was racing until he was gone from the great hall, and down to the wine cellar.

_What in the world have I done?_  I ask myself, for the third time that day.

This is what I wanted, I remind myself as I stare numbly up at the throne on the dais as the vines twist and the thorns puncture petals, and I find myself losing my breath, suffocating.

Seven years of this.

This is the price that I paid – that I would keep on paying. But time was a currency that I was willing to afford.


	2. i. second

i. second

* * *

My afternoons as of late consists of being waited on hand and foot, and I have come to loathe it.

When I lived with Madoc, I only had Tatterfell to attend me. And even she was more than enough. Here, in the Palace of Elfhame, I'm given more servants than deemed useful. I try to send them out, but they refuse to listen.

"The High King demands it," they tell me with their stupid faces and their stupid smiles.

All I can do is grit my teeth and sigh as they untangle my hair clumsily, scrub the sweat from my skin, pluck the little hairs away from my brows.

It's agony. It's torture. It's another way for Cardan to punish me by using what little power he does possess.

It makes me hate him all over again, because he knows how much I loathe being treated like this. It makes me hate him all over again, because it makes me realize that he might know me better than I would ever care to admit.

I instantly forget my annoyance when they step out of the room and I see myself in the tall mirror in my room. My gown looks like the moonless sky at midnight. The kind of midnight that devours everything it touches, and leaves only the stars behind to flicker in the void. I feel like it's consuming me, as the night sky reaches all the way down my arms, my wrists, and covers the tops of my hands.

What surprises me the most, though, is my hair. There are no fancy pins, no horns, no elaborate braids. Only a thin crown of jagged quartz sits on top of my plain head of flowing hair.

I carefully touch my reflection, because I look like I might break. I look like me, but I don't look like me at all. I look like an imposter.

I think to myself that maybe I am.

I don't spend much time appreciating my appearance, because I remember why I'm dressed like this to begin with and it makes me feel anxious, worried. Tonight is the first official gathering of faerie folk at the palace that doesn't involve dancing or ingesting powders or drowning in elf wine as the main event. There will be plenty of that, of course – faeries will forever make time for that. Even if public assassinations are involved as the main event, the dancing and drinking never stops.

All I can see are red moths and Dain's open ribs and Balekin's pinned hand and Cardan's stupid, black eyes setting me on fire. I turn away from my reflection, burned.

I can't even look at myself anymore.

_This is the price that I paid._

I turn from the mirror, and make sure my sword is adjusted the way I like it. I find that it is. I knew that it was, so I finally admit to myself that I am only stalling. The fae are the most patient of creatures, being immortal and all. Stalling would be pointless.

My back is straightened and my shoulders are pulled back as I leave my room. If I cannot give myself a true reason to hold my head up high, then I will fake one. No one will ever know, but I can't stop myself from thinking that he might.

By the time I arrive to the great hall, the festivities are already in full swing. I have never seen the great hall this filled with bodies before, and all I can do is take the scene in. I feel like no matter how many times I attend the Court, I will never get used to it.

It's the usual faerie affair: dancing, drinking, dramatics, and nevermore. The only difference is that there are eyes on me. I can feel them.

I feel like I'm choking on my pulse as my eyes gravitate on their own through the crowd, automatically searching for inky eyes and cruel smile and feathered collars. But what I find instead are Locke's playful, tawny eyes and his crooked smile. I haven't seen him since Oak placed the crown on Cardan's head.

I sigh when he bows down low in front of me. Speaking of dramatics.

"My Queen," he says, and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes.

"Get up, Locke," I sigh again, agitated. "I am not your queen."

Locke rises, but his grin is still firmly in place. He reaches for my hand and kisses the back of it. He looks absolutely conniving, and I find that I do not like it at all. I pull my hand away.

"Where is my sister?" I ask, trying to distract him. I ask, trying to remind him that I am not a toy to be played with.

Judging by the thrilled look in his eyes, my reminder flies right over his head.

"She's with Nicasia and Poesy, probably."

"Probably?" I echo, frowning. It doesn't matter if our relationship is strained right now, I do not like my sister being left alone with them. Nicasia, most of all. And what I do not like the most is how he doesn't seem to share my concern.

"Come," he says, ignoring my unease, offering me his hand. "Dance with me."

I stare at his hand, then look at him disparagingly. "I'm afraid I'll have to pass. I'm not here for a good time. Go. Find Taryn. Enjoy yourselves."

His smile falters, then widens as if he's just discovered an interesting secret.

"Are you jealous, Jude? Are you wishing I'd chosen you instead?" he asks, then reaches for a hand he was never offered. He pulls me in close and whispers, "I could still choose you, you know. It's not too late. We'd make for an interesting story, wouldn't you say?"

"I'm not your personal plot twist, Locke," I hiss, and wrench my hand from his grasp. "And neither is my sister. Remember that."

The rage building in my chest is hot as I storm away from him. I think to when I thought he was the nice one. I think to when I thought I could have loved him. I think of how he stole my sister from me.

Now I understand when Nicasia said he liked to ruin things.

Faeries are known to be cruel, manipulative. Never have I seen one so good at being all the bad things that faeries are while also pretending to be my friend. Never have I had someone embrace me while holding a dagger to my back. Never would I fall for it again. Never.

I wanted to see Taryn first, but it'll have to wait. I'm too angry now, too enraged. But I must keep my head, pay attention, because anything could happen tonight.

While I have not been made the official leader of the Court of Shadows, I have unintentionally been left in charge of making most of the decisions. The Roach said that this was my plan, so it was my responsibility to see it through. Ghost doesn't seem to have a problem with this, as long as he gets paid. And Bomb…well, she's just happy to be given a chance to blow things up.

As much as I loathe it, my main responsibility, for the next seven years, is to keep the throne safe. That means I must keep the king safe. That means I must keep Cardan safe.

Which means I must be within his vicinity at all times. I must live with his disdainful looks, his scornful tone, his living, breathing hatred for me.

I tell myself  _seven years, seven years, only seven years_. I tell myself that his feelings for me, whatever they may be, will fade away with time. Faeries feelings are fleeting.

Something flashes across my face, and I'm brought out of my thoughts. My gaze lifts to the roots hanging above. It's Ghost. He pockets his mirror and grins at me. A signal. I give a small nod, and make my way toward the dais.

It's crowded with lounging faeries, their mouths smeared with nevermore. I have to step over and around more than one, each a victim to their own vices. It disgusts me, but I guess I can't blame them.

"Ah, you've finally decided to grace me with your presence," King Cardan slurs after I nearly trip over a stray tail. He's lounging on his throne of vines and thorns, with one long leg dangling lazily over the side. The picture of pure arrogance.

_Me_ , he says. Not  _us_. My heart vaults, but I don't know why. I nearly forget myself, and drop down into a low bow. It doesn't matter who he is, he's still the king.

"I didn't realize you were waiting for me, my lord," I say, still bowed, waiting for him to touch my head.

"Hmm. I like it when you call me that. It sounds so pretty. Say it again," he demands. My face burns and my legs cramp.

He's trying to humiliate me. Here, in front of everyone. But I quickly realize that most of them are dazed or drunk. Including him.

"No," I whisper, teeth clenched.

"I wonder how long you can sit there like that. Let's find out, shall we?" I can't see his face, but I can hear his cruel smile.

"Touch my head and allow me to stand, Cardan," I demand this time. And he listens, because he has no choice.

"Must you suck the joy out of everything?" he asks spitefully, and touches the top of my head with his ringed fingers. He gazes at me with his lazy, half-lidded eyes, letting his fingertips trail down the side of my face as I rise. I don't read into it, and take my place to stand next to the throne.

"Someone needs to make sure you take your joy in moderation," I mutter, letting my eyes scan the vast room. So many colors, so many noises, so many scents and sounds. It's overwhelming, but easy to ignore with the self-indulgent mess next to me.

"And that's where you come in, isn't it?" His mouth curls, taking another sip of his green wine. He gazes up at me through his dark lashes. "The royal babysitter."

I grit my teeth. My nostrils flare. I look forward. I keep my mouth shut.

"How does it feel, I wonder?" he continues. "Does it feel good?"

He has my attention now. I sigh and ask, "Does what feel good?"

The curl of his mouth turns into something more. "Coming in second place, even though you won."

I frown at him. He must be drunker than I thought. Cardan looks away from me and tilts his head to the side at the new object of his attention. I follow his gaze to see Taryn giggling at something that Locke whispers in her ear, then she whispers something back in his.

I can't breathe. Cardan hits me where it hurts the most, and he didn't even have to lift a finger.

I feel numb. I compartmentalize.

"Has Lord Roiben arrived yet?" I ask, desperate to change the subject.

"Yes. He's already come and gone."

My neck almost breaks. "He is not even  _here_? Why didn't you keep him?"

Cardan cocks a brow. "Not in my job description," he replies, then takes a long sip, thoroughly enjoying himself.

I could strangle him. I  _want_  to strangle him. He knows what he's doing. I think about how easy it would be to walk away from the dais and leave him vulnerable. Let a stray iron arrow fly. But that would only undo everything I've worked so hard for, so I stay.

"It's Samhain. When do you expect him to come back again?" I ask, reeling in my temper. Samhain is one of the biggest celebrations of the year for the fae. It's when the veil between worlds is thinnest, when their magic is strongest. And instead of using that strength for something useful, they squander it on this.

Cardan only shrugs, and accepts an apple painted with nevermore from a pretty faerie girl with lavender hair. His charcoal eyes are on mine as he takes a bite, staining his lips gold.

I look away first, feeling frustrated with everything, with everyone.

I should have anticipated this. Lord Roiben didn't seem like the type of faerie to waste his time on Samhain with frivolity. I would have to find another time, another place, for Cardan to speak with him.  _If_  I can get Cardan to speak with him. It is important to strengthen what delicate alliance we have with Roiben, and I feel like I'm the only one who even cares.

Taryn doesn't come find me at all. I tell myself that it doesn't hurt. I focus on the steady trickle of bodies leaving as the sunlight starts to filter through the windows, and not at the hollowness in my chest.

After what feels like hours standing there, something pulls at my dress. It's Cardan. He's pulling himself up to stand and failing.

"Help me," he commands.

"I am not your servant, Cardan," I say, but I help him anyway. I walk him out a side room, and into the west wing corridor.

"But I am your king, your marionette," he reminds me, his drunken smile cold and cunning. He manages to stand on his own, and opens his arms wide. "Control me, Jude."

"You're drunk," I tell him, worried someone might hear his foolishness.

"But being drunk is easier."

"Easier than what?" I ask, a whisper.

Cardan leans in close, caging me in with his height, but I do not feel afraid. If anything, I feel anticipation.

He looks at my eyes, at my lips, at my eyes again. I can't tear my eyes away from the golden smudge on the bottom corner of his mouth.

He replies, "Easier than this."

Then he crashes to the floor with a thud. I blink and stare at the High King, snoring loudly on the floor.

What a waste of a night, I think.


End file.
